Alliances & Hordes: A Tale from Azeroth
by totallymysticwaters
Summary: For those who have not heard the words of fate speak into your ear yet, and give you the eternal silence, perhaps you will enjoy listening to this tale instead. This is not the tale of how we crafted peace, but of how we survived the world of warcraft.
1. Prologue

_Searching._

There is no escape. They say that time heals all wounds; but every soldier knows that on the battlefield, there are injuries that no man, woman, or mortal can ever recover from. Time will not make these better. If it is possible to continue on, they will go through life with their scars, memories, and their once strong determination, now eliminated to nothing. For all the others, the only thing left that awaits them is the black silence that awaits every life form after it enters into being.

_Desperate to be sought._

Dates going back to the time before there were maps, dates written in the corners of diaries, times when the text and language is no longer distinguishable from the tongue of today. Even among the oldest of hieroglyphics, only one thing was clear: War.

_Searching._ Searching, but not finding.

The world of Azeroth was split into two major factions; was, and still is. Although there are never truly only two sides to one story, and there are many factions over the lands; there was, and will always be, the Alliance and the Horde. The time where there was peace between them was non-existent, and the folk tale of agreement was a joke and little but an urban legend.

An end to the war will never be obtained.

For those who have not heard the words of fate speak into your ear yet, and give you the eternal silence, then perhaps you will enjoy listening to this tale instead. For, in a realm not so long and distant from the realm we roam today, there was a person who believed that nothing was impossible. This is not the tale of how we crafted peace, but of how we survived the world of warcraft.


	2. Chapter 1: Orgrimmar

Chapter 1: Orgrimmar

Nothing could compare to the shiny, glowing, vibrant, sweet smelling and perfuming walkways in which the Warriors, Hunters, and those of other Classes from Silvermoon City would stride through during a celebration. Such a parade would only occur when the enemy of the Alliance was killed in a battle to the south. Silvermoon City was the most northern of all the Horde cities that held a chair in speaking to the Horde Round Table (commonly known as the "Capital Cities"), as well as being the most northern of all Horde cities in general, especially those in the Eastern Kingdoms. When those from battle returned home alive, it was a wonderful time indeed. They had slaughtered their enemies and held their ground before the opposing soldier could do the same. Those that lived through the experience were glorified for their accomplishments.

But every city can compare easily to one of its own kind. A city can be compared to a city just as easily as an apple can be compared to an apple. However, the freshly picked and ripened apple could be described much easier than the gnat infested pile of compost that was left of the other fruit.

The stampedes in the streets of Orgrimmar were no exception. War heroes of all shapes, sizes, and race rode their horses, raptors, wolves, and many other enslaved creatures (one including a monstrous Kudo, a living fossil that was the only thing big enough for a Tauren to ride). But they did not ride in glory. Instead, as they rode directly through to the middle of the Valley of Strength, center of the city, and command center of the entire faction, into Grommash Hold, they rode through the waves of citizens and peons of the Horde that littered the cluttered streets. The soldiers were welcomed by smells of rotten food, the sound of flies, and the sight of beggar's greedy eyes growing wider as the ones receiving their war compensation flaunted their well being in front of those with not a copper to their name.

Tish grunted as she watched from the only window in the small shack she had inherited from her mother. Living in the Valley of Honor was safe from this nonsense, the most expensive housing in all of Durotar (the territory in which Orgrimmar resided), and of the many, many miles surrounding it; but Tish did not live in such a fortunate place. Her dwelling was much more humble, and located in between the Goblin Slums and the Valley of Strength itself.

Goblins ran by her window, screaming and hollering. "They here! Let's see who we can sweet-mouth this time 'round! Or, we just take what we want; didn' get caught last time!" The one next to him added, "Seems like we be havin' some bread tonight."

Tish Arcneede was tall and skinny, but still had a fair amount of food on her bones; especially for where she lived in the city. She had flat auburn hair that glistened goldenly in the sunlight, and often turned a flamboyant orange in the summertime. Her eyes glowed green in their iris, unless she was using magic or mana (in which case, the entire of her eye—pupil, iris and sclera—would turn into a shade of bright lime). The skin that covered her flesh was deep saffron or a pale crimson at best; its red-orange color made her easily identifiable as a Blood Elf far and wide. Her ears were tall and pointed, but her nose looked more round like a Human's than a pointed Blood Elf's.

Tish's house wasn't in prime condition, but, it was livable. It had two rooms; one of which was the size of a closet and was used as a washroom, which had a bucket for cleaning, a rag for drying, and a separate bucket for other business. The other served as a living room and private room, which had a table and an accompanying stool in the center, Tish's bed in the corner opposite the door, and her mother's dresser in the corner opposite where she slept (one of the few things Tish managed to keep after paying off the rest of the mortgage and bills her mother had left behind). Every room was made from stone walls, and tiny belongings had scattered their way throughout the Arcneede household.

Tish sighed. One of her acquaintances she had met in the Cleft of Shadows was going to make a visit today, but it seemed like the commotion and spoils of war were going to become a weekly occurrence instead of a just monthly one. It seemed even those with high pay were asking for more. A knocking on the door broke in through Tish's thoughts.

She ran over to the wooden door and pulled it open. Standing there was her good friend, Daz'Lu Li, from whom she had met when running an errand for her mother little over a year ago. The Cleft of Shadows was the area where Warlocks had learned to perfect their Class before going to war. In the end, Tish had turned down the request of becoming a Warlock like she had neglected her training of becoming a Mage and a Priest. It didn't bother Tish that she wasn't going to war. Nor was she interested in continuing to help the abomination that called themselves the Horde continue to give high pay to the few that took the time to craft themselves into weapons to kill others. What did bother her was that she could have been living like them; high end and high price.

Daz, a Troll whose family bought a house in the Valley of Honor after achieving many "honorable kills" in the field of battle, had shifted settlement straight from Echo Isles, which was off the far southern coast of Durotar. Tish didn't blame them for moving; the lifestyle in the Valley of Honor was almost as great as the one she had lived in Silvermoon City nearly a decade and a half ago, yet was closer to Grommash Hold and the Horde Round Table where the Li family earned their pay. Now, she would do anything to move to an island home, even if it was exclusively inhabited and governed by Trolls.

Daz looked quite shaken by the uproar outside of Tish's house, and hustled quickly inside her doorstep as she opened the door. Tish closed the door slowly, and turned to see him looking around the small and nearly empty hut of stone.

The troll spoke first, the tusks in his mouth moving slightly when the pale blue skin of his face contorted into a frown. "You weren't joking when you said life on the other side of town is different."

"Well, I've been at the Auction House for most of my time this week, I haven't had a chance to clean up," Tish said, even though, she admitted to herself, there wasn't that much to clean outside the washroom. "My mother left some valuables behind, but most of the stuff was junk that I just needed to be rid of. There are some vendors in The Drag that are willing to accept things for a low price, and it was easier than paying the high fee for the Auction House to put it up for bid."

Daz took one look around the room, and asked if he could sit on the bed. The stool didn't look too promising against his weight; any weight at all, really. Tish nodded and told him to make himself at home, and plopped on the stool herself. She offered Daz nothing to eat or drink, but he acted as if he didn't notice. He spoke, saying, "The crime out here is horrible. Maybe you should sell this living space and try to move to the Undercity; from my knowledge, the Forsaken and the Blood Elves have come to an understanding with each other."

Tish ignored the comment about moving completely, instead focusing on his statement about crime. "The patrol in this part of Orgrimmar cares just as much about a couple of silver lost from their pocket as they do providing food and paying jobs to anyone in this entire zone of the city. You know nothing of crime, until you've seen murder."

There was a pause. Daz was trying to help Tish, he has always been. He had encouraged her to join the Cleft of Shadow with him after they had met, thinking that she was just rebellious and stubborn to her mother. But now, after witnessing her mother's death and seeing the living conditions, saw that there was a much larger issue at hand than meets the eye.

A low and serious voice broke the silence. "You wouldn't have to see murder if you had decided to earn an education and your money like we do."

"And those we are killing in this faction war, they don't count? They live and communicate just as we do, yet their deaths aren't considered murder? But earning gold that way would never be considered a crime, not in a Horde capital!" She had trouble keeping her voice steady, shaking with anger.

"There were other things you could have done. Choosing a Class was not the only option. You could have entered into an apprenticeship with a Profession."

"My mother—"

He interrupted her. "—You could have become an Alchemist, an Enchanter, a Leatherworker—"

Tish's voice rose, now climbing to a shout, "My mother—!"

"—even a Blacksmith if you wanted to avoid war."

Tish stood up and slammed her fist on the table. "My mother wouldn't take a profession as an answer! She refused to take anything less than a Class as a sign of failure!"

"And living in this lifestyle, with no way of knowing if you'll have food or water on your table the next day, that isn't a failure?"

Tish's eyes grew wide, and she stopped. The room went quiet; all that could be heard was the yelling of chaos outside as the general poor could be heard throughout her home street.

"You see me selling almost all my possessions, and my mother's, to pay off the rent for this house and the bills she created, for what you think she had set up for my future? Or did you come here to tell me that I'm not trying hard enough, like the ones walking into Grommash Hold, who trade the lives of those who oppose them for cash? If you came to be a friend, to come talk to me in a time where I can use an ear to talk to, then please, stay. But if you've come here to tell me that I shouldn't stand for my own beliefs, get out." Tish pointed towards the door.

"You're better than this, Tish. Your mother had a real head on her shoulders; you make everything seem a lot worse than it is. If you had gone to school, and cooperated one of the first three times, you wouldn't be living like this. Your mother knew what she was doing, but it fell on deaf ears." He paused, and walked over to the door. Tish still stood at the table, lowering her arm.

He continued as he placed his hand on the door iron. "The problem isn't that you need someone to hear you. The problem is that you need to start listening. You can go in the right direction; you just don't want to believe in yourself." There was a pause, then, "I don't want to see you coming around the Cleft of Shadows again unless you are serious about becoming a Warlock. Unlike these sections of the city, once we call in the guards, you _will_ be locked up for trespassing. Come see me again when you've decided to take responsibility for your own life, and not those of the Alliance."

Tish stood there, looking at the door, the racket in the street not breaking the shock her mind was still trying to absorb from the last few minutes of events. As he walked out, all that could be heard was the clutter and crime of inner city life outside of Tish's small hut.


End file.
